


Let Your Motor Rot

by spacestationtrustfund



Series: angry sharpie [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Body Horror, D/s, HTP adjacent, Identity, M/M, Objectification, Recovery, Stone partner, Transhumanism, Trauma, Yes you read that right, erotic tooth brushing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/spacestationtrustfund
Summary: Captain America wasn’t something Bucky wanted to think about, which he figured was probably something he and Steve had in common.Steve's and Bucky's morning routine, if morning routines were about sharp objects and toothbrush roleplay instead of getting ready for the day.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: angry sharpie [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784188
Comments: 29
Kudos: 162
Collections: spacestationtrustfund sampler





	Let Your Motor Rot

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to wrap up the series with a longer fic, then decided to write something quick and shorter in honor of Steve's birthday, but then I ended up with this, and so here we are. Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ObpxB1_TV8). Additional content warnings in the end notes as usual.

Mostly it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things.  
Arthur Schopenhauer

//

He didn’t know how to broach the subject with Steve, that was the problem. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Steve would understand, or be fine with it, or—well, he didn’t think Steve would be angry, at least not at him. It was kind of pointless to be angry at something that was already dead, which was why Bucky didn’t really feel that het up about what had happened. He couldn’t exactly go back and stop anything from happening, and if he did, then he’d have no reason to go back in the first place, so—it wasn’t something he was particularly concerned about. He knew Steve worried about it more, because Steve worried about everything, but that was different.

The problem was that it had happened. No matter how much Bucky didn’t think about it, it had still happened. Even if it had happened to a different person, the body was the same, so the effects were technically something that were going to stay with him. And Steve knew about the majority of it, anyway, so it wasn’t like there was going to be an issue there. Steve knew about how they’d ruined him, and Steve had sworn up and down that he didn’t have a problem with it, so he probably wouldn’t even have a problem with what Bucky was trying to tell him either.

He just didn’t know how to start that conversation.

He’d been thinking about it a lot, even for him.

There was an old superstition he’d heard about one time, where you could erase any bad omens on a ship by renaming her; that was sort of what Steve had done. It was bad luck to change the ship’s name unless she’d endured a long string of bad luck or mishandling, and then it was okay, because you’d be stripping her of her identity—everything she’d experienced, everything she’d learned, everything her crew had put into her. It was a nice sort of fantasy, because a ship was sort of like a weapon, at least in the sense that both were vessels that would be controlled and steered by someone else, pointed in the right direction. Picking apart the stitches, really working it over, making everything into something new.

So it was sort of like that. 

//

“I know you’re following me. Might as well come in and make yourself useful,” Steve said. He was tilting his head around, trying to see in the mirror if he’d missed a spot while shaving.

Bucky slunk into the bathroom, feeling giddy. He bumped his head against Steve’s shoulder, sort of like a caress, and elbowed him in the ribs a couple of times, for good measure.

“Watch it,” Steve said. “You want me to cut my throat here?”

He’d never got the hang of these newfangled razor blades, or hadn’t wanted to. The straight razor was long and sharp enough to slice open someone’s throat without much trouble at all. “Yes,” Bucky said.

Steve pulled a face at him in the mirror. “Well, at least have the decency to grab a towel for the blood,” he said. Bucky obliged. “See, you’re not so stupid,” Steve said, wiping the lather off his face. “I remember now why I keep you around.”

“Thought you kept me around for my spectacular conversation skills,” Bucky said.

“Don’t get cute,” Steve said. “We both know you don’t have any of those.”

It was true. “Then you keep me around because I get you off six times a day,” said Bucky. “Because you’re a dog in heat.”

“Hold on, _I’m_ the dog?” Steve tossed the towel down on the edge of the sink. “C'mere, heel.”

Bucky stuck his tongue out. Steve grabbed for it, over his shoulder, and Bucky twisted away. It felt like a dance. It felt like there was something bright and fierce pressing up against the inside of his ribs, and he wanted Steve to take the razor and cut him open so that Steve could see it too.

“Six times a day, huh? Who’s the guy with my face who’s been sticking his dick in you, then?”

“Some egomaniac,” Bucky said. He put his chin down on Steve’s shoulder, so Steve could pull at his hair without having to reach. “Thinks he owns me.”

“Well, you better set him straight.”

“That’s right,” Bucky said. “Nobody else owns me but you. Not ever again.”

Steve was blushing a little. It was pretty swell.

Bucky kept his head on Steve’s shoulder while Steve rinsed off the razor and the strop. He could feel the muscles moving under the skin and Steve’s undershirt, and opened his mouth so he could chew on Steve’s shoulder a little. Steve’s skin was warm and tasted like soap.

“Hey, you,” Steve said. Bucky stilled, teeth closed around the skin. “When's the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“Dunno.”

“That’s a problem,” Steve said. “Good oral hygiene is important, especially at your advanced age.” He tugged on Bucky’s hair a bit more. “The problem is, we gotta figure out how to brush your teeth without putting anything in your mouth.”

Bucky flashed his teeth at Steve in the mirror. “My teeth are in my mouth.”

“Good job, genius,” said Steve. “You want me to put a toothbrush in there? Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He turned off the tap, and set the razor and the leather on the towel he’d used earlier. “We can figure it out. You go where I put you, okay?”

It wasn’t like there would be anything wrong with his teeth. They weren't even the original set. Bucky ended up seated on the closed toilet lid anyway, with Steve standing over him, looming comfortingly. "Here," Steve said. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over Bucky's lower lip, pulling it down into a pout. The edge of his fingernail bumped up against Bucky's teeth. Steve said, "Is this enough?"

Bucky managed to roll his eyes. Steve laughed.

"That's what I thought," he said. He pushed his thumb further, pressing on the crown of Bucky's teeth, then retracted it and tugged on Bucky's lip again. "That's right," Steve said. He stuck his first two fingers into Bucky's mouth, only far enough to rub against his gums, pushing his lips around. Steve slid one finger deeper, catching in Bucky's cheek, and tugged, like a fish hook; Bucky could feel the spit collecting under his tongue, but he kept his jaw relaxed and stayed still, breathing through his nose.

Steve pushed his fingers back into the space between Bucky's upper lip and his gums, and laughed. "You look ridiculous," he said. "You look like a horse. I should put a saddle on you."

He kept rubbing Bucky's gums for a bit longer. They were starting to go numb from the contact, and there was more saliva sliding out of his mouth and onto his chin—Bucky could feel, where the air hit, his skin felt cold. He thought, if Steve pushed his fingers in a bit farther, into his throat—

He didn’t even have a gag reflex anymore. That was the most frustrating part.

Steve pulled his fingers out and dragged them down Bucky's chin, smearing the saliva. He crossed his wrists and slid his first two fingers into the space between Bucky's gums and cheeks again, thumbs pressed against the corner of his mouth. "There we go," Steve said. He curled his fingers, stroking the inside of Bucky's cheeks, back and forth. "Yeah, that's good."

Like this, Bucky could clamp shut his teeth and swallow without dislodging Steve's fingers; he could swallow, but he couldn't do anything about the drool gathering in the front of his mouth, with his lower lip pulled down from the way Steve's fingers were stretching his cheeks. He knew Steve wouldn't mind if Bucky drooled on him—Steve didn't have to do any this, but he knew the consequences—but it wasn't like he _wanted_ to drool all over himself. He wasn't supposed to want anything, but of course he wanted to be good, anyway.

But Steve didn't seem to mind. The laser-focus of Steve's attention was still centred on Bucky. Steve kissed the outside of Bucky's cheek, right where his fingers were tucked away. Steve could push his fingers all the way down, reach down his throat and grab onto the base of Bucky's tongue and pull it out of him. He could pull hard enough to turn Bucky inside out; that was the serum. It'd be—

He didn’t know how long Steve had been touching him, pushing and tugging at his lips and poking his gums like something was going to happen, but he noticed when Steve pulled his fingers out. “You alive in there?” Steve asked, but it was soft.

Bucky worked his jaw for a moment. His tongue felt like rubber heated by the sun, pliable and heavy. “Did the serum turn your hand into a toothbrush, or did I miss something while I was dead?”

Steve smacked him on the temple, gently. “Don’t talk back,” he said.

“Shut me up then,” Bucky said. He rubbed his face on Steve’s shirt, and Steve made a face at him. “What? You want me to walk around all day with spit all over my face?”

“Not _all day_ ,” Steve said.

“Then what’s the problem,” said Bucky. It wasn’t like Steve had dressed up all fancy like the arrow collar man or anything—he was still in his sweatpants, and an undershirt, which made his arms look real nice—and besides, the shower was right there. He went to rub his face against Steve’s stomach again, and Steve grabbed his hair to stop him. “What?”

It wasn’t like he was ignoring that Steve was hard, or anything. He was just trying to put his face higher up on Steve’s body than that.

“I’m trying to get ready,” Steve said, obnoxiously.

“For what,” Bucky said.

“For _the day_.” Steve yanked his hair, but only once, and he didn’t step back either.

Bucky pushed his head forwards so he could mouth at the drawstring. He closed his teeth around one of them, and tugged it.

“Hey,” Steve said. “Wrong thing.” Bucky spat out the string. “I know you don’t think that’s my dick,” Steve said. “You’re not that stupid.” Bucky opened his mouth and tried to bite the string again, but Steve pulled on his hair hard enough for it to hurt a little. “You think I want those teeth anywhere near my dick? Stop that. You want me to get my dick out? Put your teeth away.”

Bucky relaxed his jaw and tried to look inviting instead of dead-eyed, which probably wasn’t very successful, particularly considering nothing was going to come of it.

“My dick isn’t a toothbrush either,” said Steve. “But I’ll forgive you for not knowing the difference. You didn’t brush your teeth for, what, 75 years?”

“I don’t know, I was only awake for five of those.”

“Funny,” Steve said. “Well, go on, suck it.”

Bucky looked up at him. “You know I can’t—”

“Yeah, of course I know, quit reminding me,” Steve said. “Next you’ll be acting like I don’t remember my own name.” He released Bucky’s hair. “Get on with it already.”

“Just tell me what to do,” said Bucky.

Steve scoffed. “What, you forget how to blow somebody?” He stuck his thumb in Bucky’s lower lip again, tugging it away from his teeth. “Start by licking.” Bucky obediently stuck out his tongue to lap at Steve’s thumb, and Steve dug his nails into Bucky’s tongue. “My dick, genius.”

“Oh, sorry,” Bucky said. “They look so similar, same size and everything.”

He opened his mouth and licked the front of Steve’s sweatpants. They didn’t really taste like anything, just warmth and cotton—he could smell the lather Steve had used to shave with, still on Steve’s hands, resting on his hair. The fabric was rough against his tongue, even as his saliva darkened the area around Steve’s dick.

Steve got a fistful of Bucky’s hair and tugged, just hard enough to let Bucky know he was in control. Bucky had it cut short, of course, but there was more than enough length for Steve to grab onto the curls and move Bucky around if he wanted. He let himself be moved, melting against the front of Steve’s sweatpants, cheek pressed up against the sharp jut of Steve’s hip.

“That’s it,” Steve said, pushing Bucky’s head against his erection. “Take it deeper, c'mon, I know you can do it, I know what they had you do—yeah, that’s it, all the way in your throat, keep going.”

Bucky mumbled something inarticulate—he couldn’t really talk, with his face mashed all against Steve’s dick; his mouth was mostly shut, anyway. He rubbed his face all over Steve’s groin again, and Steve made a choked-off noise.

There obviously wasn’t anything in his mouth, but it almost felt like there was, anyway, with Steve pushing his hips into Bucky’s face and talking nonsense about fucking his throat. It felt like—well, it wasn't easy to explain, it wasn't an emotion so much as a feeling. It was sort of like there was a cloud stuck in his throat, mostly air but water too, pushing outward and expanding and threatening to suffocate him. There was a sense of something heavy and full, weighed down, but it wasn't really heavy, it was light—it was cold, where the feeling slid around his throat and down, and it was concentrated. He thought, if Steve would just put his hand on his throat—but then Steve’s hand slipped down the back of his head, yanking Bucky’s hair with it, and Bucky’s chin was jerked up, sharply.

Steve was breathing hard, chest heaving. Bucky looked up at him, mouth half open, feeling inanely fuzzy and lightweight all over, and Steve said, “Yeah, that’s it, take it, all the way—”

Bucky stuck out his tongue, trying to get back at what he’d been doing, and Steve pushed him down again. There was saliva all over Steve’s sweatpants where Bucky had slobbered on them, and he was still drooling a little, mostly from the way Steve was holding onto his hair.

“You want me to come in your mouth?” Steve asked, which—it was sweet of him to ask, but also pointless, since Bucky didn’t think he could talk. He was trying to focus on sucking dick, anyway. “Or I could—on your face, you’d probably like that, huh?”

It was pretty stupid of him to ask—like Bucky minded either way, like he could do anything about it! But he kept nuzzling against Steve’s crotch, while Steve rolled his hips against Bucky’s face, until Steve’s grip on his hair tightened and he dragged Bucky away, tilting Bucky’s head back so his mouth opened and his throat arched. He was looking at the ceiling, because of the angle, so he couldn’t see the exact moment Steve started to come, but he could tell, because both of Steve’s hands tightened in his hair, holding him in place so Steve could come all over his face.

Finally Steve let him go. Bucky’s scalp ached at the release. “You’re disgusting,” Steve said. “You look like something outta one of those eight-pagers.”

Bucky worked his jaw to relieve some of the tension, then rubbed his face all over the front of Steve’s sweatpants. It probably had the opposite effect, and wouldn’t really help him clean off, but it had the desired result—Steve yelped and jumped back, surprised.

“If you wanted me naked you coulda just said, instead of ruining my clothes,” Steve pointed out. Bucky pretend-winked at him.

//

Later, when they’d left the bathroom and were in the bedroom—Bucky didn’t even sleep in there most of the time, but he’d been able to follow Steve and flop down on the bed, next to him. Steve didn’t like the way the bed felt, anyway, and he’d shoved a couple of sturdy yoga mats between the top sheet and the mattress, probably so it felt more like the bed of nails he thought he ought to be sleeping on, or whatever weird self-flagellation Steve was into. But later, when they were in the bedroom, Bucky rolled his head to the side so it fell against Steve’s shoulder, and said, “You know it makes me feel weird when you treat me like a person instead of just something that lives in your house. Because I’m not.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. He’d put the ruined sweatpants into the hamper, but he’d put on a new pair of underwear before getting into bed.

“Right,” he said, knocking the side of his skull against Bucky’s. “Except you are a person, more or less. At least, you’re definitely something that’s alive. I mean, you just said it.”

That wasn’t the point. If he got into another one of those arguments with Steve, he’d never get around to saying anything useful, and there wasn’t much point to anything that wasn’t useful; it wasn’t like he could argue, if Steve actually told him he was wrong. If Steve went and said it, then there’d be no point in arguing. Bucky didn’t think Steve would do that—at least, he wouldn’t do it intentionally, but sometimes Steve forgot what he was doing and he’d use the wrong voice, and Bucky wouldn’t have a choice. At least they’d been able to set down rules about how Captain America wasn’t allowed in the apartment, which was good because Bucky couldn’t really be objective about that. It wasn’t that he felt any particular way about Captain America, or that he liked Captain America—nobody liked Captain America, least of all Steve—it was just that Captain America wasn’t something he wanted to think about, which he figured was probably something he and Steve had in common.

“Let me finish,” Bucky said. Steve put his hands up obligingly. “I’m saying, it’d be easier if you’d just pick whether you want me to be a weapon or a sex toy, instead of trying to have me be both.”

It wasn’t entirely Steve’s fault, he knew that much. Steve didn’t want him to be a weapon—well, Steve had said he was fine with whatever Bucky ended up being, even if it wasn’t entirely _Bucky_ , but that didn’t mean he was going to enjoy it. Steve was _good_ , and he expected other people to be good too, instead of being realistic about things. It had always been sort of frustrating.

Steve didn’t say anything, for a long moment. “Well,” he said, eventually, “uh, ‘bisexual’ means something different now.”

“So it means you can get off with weapons _and_ toys?” Bucky laughed. “You want me to pistol-whip you, sweetheart? Huh?”

“What, you can’t be both things? And yeah, I do, actually.”

That wasn’t fair and Steve knew it. “Ever try sticking your dick in a gun? Doesn’t sound very pleasant to me.”

“For me, or the gun?” asked Steve agreeably.

“Guns don’t have feelings.”

Steve snorted. “Oh, of course.”

“Most of what happened to me wasn’t because I was a gun,” Bucky said, quickly, just in case Steve was worried. “That was just incidental. It wasn’t because—I mean, it happened, but that’s not why it happened. I mean, you don’t like fucking me because I have only one arm, right?” He was almost worried that Steve would say that was why, even though he knew it wasn’t true, but of course Steve didn’t say that.

“If you want me to jerk off on your stump then you could at least come up with a less rambling way to ask for that,” Steve said. “If you want a favor, just ask, don’t try to trick me. I don’t like it.”

Bucky couldn’t help but try to smile at him, then—he didn’t quite manage it, but—Steve would understand anyway, so it didn’t matter. “Well, it’s not like I’d mind,” he said. It was nice to be useful. “So do you want me to be a weapon, or a sex toy?”

Steve looked momentarily horrified, but he pulled himself together quickly. “Is there not another option?”

“I guess you could rub off on a gun,” Bucky said, dubious. Then he had an idea. “Hey—hey, Steve, sweetheart, I know, remember when I caught you looking at dildos on the Internet and—”

“You didn’t _catch_ me, I know you know what search history is—”

“—but anyway, when I caught you looking at dildos on the Internet—I mean, I think you could wallop someone over the head with one of those,” Bucky said triumphantly. “Some of those were fuckin’ enormous. Probably knock ’em out cold.”

“Oh my god,” Steve said.

Bucky laughed. “What? I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, let me just march into battle with nothing more than a—a—a sex toy, _that_ ’ll go over well—”

“Well, my point is that it’d be ridiculous, see?”

“But we’re not talking about—marching into battle, or whatever,” Steve said. “Are we? I mean, those are different things. I wouldn’t bring the fridge with me when I do charity stuff.”

“But what a sight that’d be,” Bucky said.

Steve sighed. “I think you can be a thing that has different purposes at different times.”

That was Steve: eternally optimistic. Bucky rubbed his face against Steve’s shoulder, scraping the skin with his teeth. “Aw, sweet talk me some more, why don'tcha,” he said. He hadn’t left a bite mark, earlier, but he thought—he probably could, if he bit down hard enough. He could just dig his teeth in and stay there, all the time, so Steve would have to walk around with this great thing hanging off his shoulder, attached at the teeth, and then Steve would never have to leave him alone, but—

Steve knew him well enough to call his bluff, though. “Anyway,” Steve said, “the point being, you’re not a gun, or a—sex toy, or something like that, you’re—you, which is—a different thing. I think you can be a multi-purpose thing. Or at least I can use you for different things.”

“Oh, you _think_ so, huh?”

“Well,” Steve said. “You did tell me I get to decide what makes you useful.”

That was fair enough. “That’s right,” Bucky said cheerfully. He dragged his teeth across Steve’s shoulder, satisfied when Steve shivered. “Thanks for letting me suck your dick.”

“Yeah, it was a real hardship, you know,” Steve said, bone-dry. He reached over and tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, so he could hold onto him, like a handle. It was convenient, and it made Bucky’s skin light up with little fireworks, bright and tingling and sharp, like needle pinpricks. “But I guess it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: Steve and Bucky are very weird and traumatized people and have very weird sex about it. No, really, Bucky pantomimes sucking dick and Steve pretends to brush his teeth for him. The main warning is, of course, for objectification (i.e., Bucky acts and feels like a thing instead of a person, and Steve mostly goes along with it). Steve is pretending to force Bucky to blow him, there is no actual oral penetration of that regard, but it could still come across as dub-con roleplay. There's also like one line where Steve calls Bucky a dog, but they don't commit to the premise or anything. I always feel like my warnings are too vague, so if there's something you feel I missed (for example, if tooth-brushing roleplay is a HARD SQUICK for you), feel free to let me know, I don't mind.
> 
> Notes: Bucky's comment about how his teeth aren't the original set is courtesy of [this post](https://feuilletoniste.tumblr.com/post/623102450606424064/reason-1278958-to-be-sad-about-bucky-barnes) (discussion of dental horror at the link). "Bisexual" used to mean "intersex," which is the context in which Steve would've heard it in the 1940s, if he heard it at all.


End file.
